I'm worried that I'm an anxious person.
So when my sister-in-law "and brother" gifted me a float in a sensory deprivation tank for Christmas, I knew this was my chance to prove that I could fucking relax.
I left Jaime and Sol, for the first time, with two bottles of pumped milk, his parents and a tense vibe.
Marlon gave me a quick run down before I entered the tank. He said to take a 5 minute shower under cool water first.
I'm going to stop you right there, Marlon.
It is impossible to take a shower in under 5 minutes. You need at least 5 minutes at the top to stand motionless and unsuccessfully try to talk yourself into shaving your legs. And cool water? Go fuck yourself, Marlon.
He explained that I would know when to enter the tank because the lights and music would start fading. He also stressed that I needed to get in there before the lights went completely out and I lost my orientation.
He opened the door to the tank to show me where I'd be spending the next 90 minutes. The heavily salted water looked inviting but also fathomless. I asked how deep it was, and his condescending smile told me he'd been asked that hundreds of times.
What happens if I fall asleep? He'd also been asked this hundreds, maybe thousands, of times.
When you're done, take another 5 minute shower in warm water then meet me at the front desk.
Right, Marlon.
As soon as I noticed a change in the lights, I stepped into the pool and closed the door behind me immediately convinced it had sealed shut and that no one could hear if I screamed.
Of course I couldn't drink the water, and I recently learned it isn't running out of oxygen in confined spaces that kills people. It's their own exhaled carbon dioxide poisoning them. Which sounds like the same fucking thing.
The lights went completely out, and my mind went directly to Harrison Okene.
A week before floating, I'd listened to a podcast about a shipwrecked man who'd survived for 3 days on the floor of the Atlantic Ocean inside a 4 x 4 foot air pocket. Divers sent to recover bodies in the completely dark, shark-infested water noticed him when he reached out and lightly grazed one of their backs.
I was Harrison now.
Every time my toe skimmed the side of the tank or a piece of my hair touched my shoulder, I screamed inside of my body and braced for the great white that lived in 10 inches of water inside a yoga studio in Waldo. This would be my coffin.
I forced myself to think of lighter things like the climate crisis or what I would wear to receive a Nobel Peace Prize. I design dresses or pant suits for that occasion often, but not once have I actually thought about what I'd do to win one. I didn't then either.
I thought about Sol but not as much as I thought I would. She wasn't scary enough.
I considered leaving the tank early, but I couldn't open my eyes. If I opened my eyes, it would be just as dark as it was with my eyes closed, and that terrified me.
I also didn't want to waste my sister-in-law's money. She would definitely have wanted me to stay in my mind prison for the full 90 minutes.
At least the children on the Thai soccer team had some light while they were trapped in the cave. I needed someone to sedate me, strap me to their body, carry me out of there and release me into my parents' loving arms.
But I think they were all taken away in ambulances. I probably didn't need an ambulance.
The moment I perceived the lights and music fading in, I sat straight up, and my engorged tumescent boobs dropped like anvils.
I was alive.
I met Marlon at the front desk, and he asked how it was. I told him that I'd never felt so relaxed in my life and that I would like to purchase a shorter session in the tank for my husband.
Stockholm syndrome can come for anyone at any time.
"I'm not fucking doing that," Jaime said when I gave him his appointment reminder card.
Right. I called and got our money back.
